


Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

by lookninjas



Series: The One Where They're All Strippers [8]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three hours after Beth is born, a strange man shows up at the hospital bearing gifts. It takes years for Puck to realize what's really going on. (Or: The One Where Burt Hummel Invests in the Future.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the stripper!verse. Timeline-wise, this starts way back in Puck, Kurt, Quinn, and Santana's sophomore year, and carries through to shortly after Kurt and Blaine's engagement.

The first time it happens, Beth is three hours old, pink and wrinkly and freshly-scrubbed and perfect and _his_ , his little girl no matter what happens now, and Quinn's stopped screaming and gone from "I hate you" to "I love you" and then from there to sleeping, and Kurt went... wherever, and Puck doesn't really care about him or anything or anyone but Beth, who is perfect from her sparse dark hair to her weird, tiny little toenails, who is wrapped up in pink and has a dorky little hat on and is fast asleep in his arms. And Puck just sits in his chair and holds her and marvels at the fact that, for the first time in his life, he's actually made something good.

Then there's a tap at the door, and Puck doesn't even get the chance to say anything before Mr. Hummel's pushing his way into the room. He doesn't have his baseball cap on, and his bald head looks weird without it. His face looks weird, too. And the teddy bear he's carrying, the one wearing a t-shirt that says "Grandpa's Girl" on it...

"It's not from me," Mr. Hummel says, and Puck stares at him a little longer before it sinks in, and he starts feeling hot and queasy and mad and maybe even a little scared all at once. "Your mom's got him out in the lobby. She says he should go, he says he's not going anywhere 'til he sees her..." Burt inclines his head at Beth, and Puck pulls her a little closer into his chest. "I figured -- she's your little girl, let's ask you. But I'm feeling like I kind of already know your answer."

"Absolutely not," Puck says, and doesn't realizing that he's starting to squeeze Beth a little too tight until she lets out a weak, plaintive cry and he loosens up a little, shushing her, saying "Sorry, sorry, baby, Daddy's sorry, shh..."

"Bum's rush it is," Burt says, and turns back towards the door. But he turns almost immediately, holds the bear out. "You... Uh, you want me to get rid of this, for you?"

Puck just nods and goes back to trying to calm Beth down, ignoring the sound of the door closing behind him.

(Half an hour later, after Puck's decided that Beth wasn't fussy because he was squeezing her, but fussy because she was taking her first-ever dump and holy hell is _that_ something he never wants to see twice, Mr. Hummel comes back in with Kurt hovering over his shoulder, beaming, and another teddy bear in his hands, but this one's roughly five times the size of the first one and has a pink bow tie on, and Puck doesn't even need to ask where this one came from. Kurt tells him anyway, of course, but then that's Kurt.)

 

*

 

He's in the office at Hummel Tire and Lube, staring at a map of Europe, trying to make himself care about the fact that a couple big countries broke up into a hell of a lot of smaller ones because of communists or whatever, when the bell jingles. He looks up, feels his jaw drop, can't quite make it shut.

"Hell of an operation they got here," his dad says, swaggering into the office with a brown paper bag in his hands. He glances over at the wall, at Kurt's framed _Wicked_ poster and his _Broadway Barks!_ calendar, and adds, "Decor could use some sprucing up, though. And here I was thinking the girlie calendars came standard, right?" 

His dad laughs. 

Puck doesn't.

"Dad," he says, glancing back at the window to the shop itself; Mr. Hummel's wiping his hands on a rag and saying something to Steve. He'll be coming out into the office any second, though -- he leaves early on Thursdays, has done ever since the heart attack (that's why Puck's there, to handle the public when Mr. H isn't around). Puck can't figure out if he wants to get his dad out of the building before Mr. H sees him, or wait and let Mr. H chase him off. He should get him out -- he should handle his own shit, he's not a kid anymore, but there's something about looking at his dad, that same old easy grin and the same cold eyes... "Dad, what are you doing here?"

His dad just shrugs, swaggers forward, sets the paper bag on the counter -- glass bottles clink inside it. "Heard you're getting ready to graduate," he says. "Even getting a B in geometry. Hell of a thing, a Puckerman getting a B. I never did anything like that when I was your age. And you got this nice job, pretty little wife --"

"Girlfriend," Puck snaps, even though he's not sure why. Hell, he wanted to marry Quinn; she was the one who backed out on him. And it's not like it matters anyway, not like he has anything to prove, not to this guy he hasn't seen since he was twelve and --

"And your daughter's how old, now?" his dad asks. "Birthday must be coming up pretty soon, right? Hell of a thing, you having a kid that young. But I hear you're doing all right by her. Looks like it, anyway. Good grades, this nice job... Hell of an operation they got --"

Puck pushes up to his feet; his pencil rolls off the desk and clatters onto the floor. "Dad," he says, glancing back over his shoulder again -- Mr. H's gotten distracted, heading over to the green Subaru they've got on the lifts (nice lady, works for Hospice and drives all over hell's half-acre, so she's always getting something done), but it's only gonna be a matter of time 'til he realizes Kurt's gonna yell if he doesn't get home, and anyway, Puck's about reached his limit for how many times he can hear his dad say the same thing. "What do you want?"

His dad reaches into the bag, starts to pull out what looks like a six-pack -- Puck sees the little metal caps on top of the brown bottles, and immediately reaches out to force his dad's hand back down. "What are you doing? You can't -- I am at _work_ here, I could lose my --"

"Sheesh, lighten up a little, won't you?" But his dad lets go of the cardboard handle of the six-pack, lets it slide back down into the bag. "Fine. I'm leaving this here for you, though. Little early graduation present. That's my last six-pack, you know. From my microbrewery. Puckerman's Special Sauce. Didn't work out the way I planned; hell, nothing ever does. Thought I was gonna have a brew with my son, you know. But still. Can't say I never gave you --"

"Noah." And it's weird, because the last thing he wants right now is to hear Mr. H's voice, with his dad still standing at the counter and the six-pack he brought right freaking there, like Puck's been drinking at work, like he would ever -- But it's a relief, in a weird way, in the same way that he was kind of hoping all along that Mr. H would come and take care of his dad for him, because he's trying, he's trying so hard to be a man now, but whenever his dad's around he's just the same punk kid he's always been. "Steve said he wanted to show you something on Mrs. Emmerline's car. Brakes, I think it was. Nothing that needs fixing now, but he figures she could use the heads-up when she comes in, and you're the one she likes to deal with, so."

When Puck finally looks at Mr. Hummel, he sees... not a hell of a lot, to be truthful. Mr. H is just watching him, hat on, face shaded. He doesn't look like he's saving Puck from anything, but that doesn't mean Puck doesn't see the out when he gets one. "Sure thing, Mr. H," he says, and then glances back at his dad. Thinks about saying... something; he figures he should say _something_ , like "Sorry" or "See you around" or whatever. But the truth is, he hasn't had anything to say to his father for five years, and he's tired of trying to come up with something.

His dad looks at him, shrugs. "Duty calls," he says, and offers Puck a grin.

Puck just turns away and heads onto the shop floor.

When he comes back, his dad's gone, and so's the beer.

(When he gets his last geography grade back -- a B-, not his best but still a damn sight better than he would've gotten before Beth, before he had a reason to start caring -- Mr. Hummel takes him out to dinner as a pre-graduation present, and he sips his Coke as Kurt goes on about UCLA and how amazing it's going to be, and he realizes he can't be totally sure, but he's still pretty sure that Coke tastes better than any microbrew ever could.)

 

*

 

He starts to catch on after Quinn leaves him for the last time. 

His head hurts and he can hear his blood pounding in his skull, hear his breath rasping and the sound his guts make as they twist and squirm, but what he can't hear is whatever the other person in the room is saying. It's just a voice, quiet and maybe a little high-pitched and maybe a little familiar, but he's too fucking hungover to work it out so he just kind of lets it go on for a little bit while he's trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he feels like he's dying. It's not until the door clicks shut that he remembers Quinn, and "I can't do this anymore," and "I'm not gonna take her away from you, just..." and he forces his eyes open and yanks his protesting body upright, hoping --

But it's not Quinn. It's Kurt Hummel, frowning at the mass of beer bottles on top of the tv as he slides his wallet back into his pocket. 

And Puck's not sure why, but it feels like something falling into place.

"Who was that?" he asks, barely able to get the words out -- he's cotton-mouthed, tongue thick and heavy. "At the door?"

Kurt turns wary eyes on him, shrugs, maybe a little too casual. "No one important," he says, and then doesn't say anything else, just watches as Puck swings his legs off the couch, feet hitting the carpet, and he needs to vacuum, Quinn will _kill_ him if he doesn't vacuum...

"Fuck," he says, and buries his head in his hands.

Kurt still doesn't say anything.

"Okay," Puck says, finally lifting his head up. Kurt's still watching him, still wary -- not quite the same look he had in high school, in those days when Puck didn't have to care about throwing people in dumpsters because he didn't have a perfect fucking little girl looking up to him, but close. "Okay, so, why are you here? Shouldn't you be, like, giving Quinn a haircut, or something? I mean, that's what you usually do, right? When we break up?"

Kurt sighs heavily and folds his arms. "I'm not with Quinn," he says, "because Quinn has Mercedes and Santana and Brittany. Quinn is fine. You, on the other hand, could use some work." And just like that, he stalks past the couch and towards the kitchen. "I'm getting you some water," he calls, loud enough to make Puck drop his head back into his hands to try to block some of it out. "And then I'm going to do the dishes and you're going to drink your water and not puke on anything that I'd have to clean."

And Puck can barely raise his head up, but he does it anyway, just so he can call back "And then what?"

"And then," Kurt replies, still shouting, and it's hard as hell for Puck not to flinch at the sound of it, "we talk."

He turns the tap on then, and Puck doesn't bother trying to reply, because Kurt won't hear him anyway.

(He's helping Kurt clean up, later, when he notices a broken mug in the bottom of the trash can. He can't see all of it, just a fragment with what might be a heart on it, and another fragment with the letters _-ad_ , and it doesn't look familiar but he's got shit to do, so he doesn't even think about it until even later than that, when he's in the shower trying to scrub the smell of stale beer out of his pores and he remembers the mug that wasn't his, and Kurt at his front door, talking to someone, with his wallet out, and he wonders. But then, he's still got to think about Quinn, and Beth, and custody, and all that shit, so it doesn't come up but every now and then, something to gnaw at when his brain's not busy with other things, but mostly forgotten.

(But not completely.)

 

*

 

They still haven't completely worked out Thanksgivings. Quinn doesn't really like going to his mom's house for Thanksgiving now that they're not together. She's okay with him going, and even taking Beth, but then that leaves Quinn alone on Thanksgiving because she's still not talking to her shitty parents because her parents are shitty parents. And Puck's not really cool with that because she's still Quinn and therefore still the most important five years of his life and he still loves her even if they don't kiss anymore, and therefore there's no frickin' way he's gonna let her be alone for Thanksgiving because that's not cool. But he does want to see his mom, and his little sister (who isn't really that little any more, which kind of freaks him out, which kind of means he has to be at home that much more, because she needs a dude in her life just like he needed a dude in his). So it's a struggle, trying to figure out how to make everyone happy. 

(It'd maybe be a little easier if Quinn would admit she were unhappy with the thought of being alone over the holidays, but Puck knows her too well to expect that.)

(But he also knows her too well to believe her when she says she's happy, so.)

For about a week or so, it's settled -- Santana's doing some sort of lesbian Thanksgiving thing and Quinn's invited, which seems a little weird but whatever, if they're all happy with it. But then there's a last minute phone call from Brittany's parents, and the next thing Puck knows, Santana's pissed and Brittany's quiet and they're both going to Sacramento, and Quinn is still "fine" with staying home by herself, because a day off is a day off and honestly she'll probably just sleep and maybe make soup or something but she doesn't need a big meal or a lot of people as long as she can just rest, which is all she wants anyway, and Puck almost believes her, but he can't. Not really. And his mom's cool with Quinn coming over, but Quinn doesn't feel comfortable, but she has to go somewhere, but Mercedes already drove back to Vegas for the weekend and Tina and Mike are eating roast duck in Stockton, and Puck is actually at the grocery store with a giant frozen turkey in his cart and Kurt on the phone telling him what else he needs to buy when Kurt heaves a huge sigh and says, "You know what? Screw this. This is... No. We're not doing this. Put the turkey back, call your mom, tell her Thanksgiving is at my dad's this year. Quinn, too. And Beth. And your sister. You get your family, Quinn doesn't have to go to their house, everyone's happy."

"Dude," Puck says, because it is a good idea but he doesn't want to put Kurt out any, but he also doesn't want to say no to him because he's realized that it's kind of usually not a great idea to say no to Kurt Hummel. "I mean, I don't want to --"

"I'm not asking you, Puckerman," Kurt says. "I'm telling you. Thanksgiving. My dad's house. Bring everyone."

Puck just blinks down at his cart for a second; he's not sure, but he thinks the store's gotten really dusty, because his eyes are starting to sting a little bit. "What about my nana?" he asks, because again, he does what Kurt says, usually, but. _Nana._

"I said _everyone_ , Puck." There's a little pause, and then Kurt adds, grudgingly, "Please."

And so that's how Puck finds himself at the Hummels for Thanksgiving, with his Nana in the kitchen helping Kurt finish the last few things and his sister on the couch doing something with her phone and ignoring everyone else and Quinn and Mr. H setting the table and his mom on the floor with Beth, doing one of those big puzzles with a million pieces. And it feels right, and comfortable, comfortable enough that Puck doesn't even think about it when the door bell rings, just yells "I'll get it," and goes.

It's his dad, standing on the porch, with a can of yams tucked under his arm. He doesn't look surprised to see Puck at the Hummel's.

Puck wishes he could say the same.

"Hey, kiddo," his dad says. "You got a moment?"

Puck takes a second to look back over his shoulder -- everyone's busy; no one's noticed he's gone. No one's going to come looking for him anytime soon, either; no one's going to give him an out this time. 

He takes a deep breath, checks to make sure his wallet is in his back pocket, and says, "Sure." 

Then he steps out of the house and closes the door behind him.

Mr. H is waiting by the door when Puck comes back into the house -- an empty wallet and a can of freaking yams under his arm. He looks at Puck, and even without a baseball cap to shade his face, his expression is unreadable. "Dinner's ready," he says, and claps a hand on Puck's shoulder, and then turns away.

Kurt's still in the kitchen when Puck comes in and dumps the can of yams in the trash -- the horrified sympathy in his expression hurts a lot more than his dad's poker face ever could, but at least he doesn't say anything.

(It's a great dinner. Puck's sure it is. He can't taste anything, but that doesn't mean it's tasteless. It's just him.

(It's always been him.)

 

*

 

"First off," Mr. H says, and takes a sip of his red wine, and makes a face. It's weird, because Kurt's not around to see him or care whether he's drinking red wine or beer or frickin' vodka or whatever, but Mr. H is still drinking the wine, because Kurt says a glass or two every now and then is good for his heart, and even Kurt's dad does what Kurt says, because everyone does what Kurt says, even when he's not around to see or care. "Let's get this outta the way right now. You don't owe me a damn thing. Your dad might owe me some money, fair enough. But that's him. Not you. You don't owe me squat."

"But he wasn't gonna ask you," Puck says, because it's true, or at least he thinks it's true. He hopes it's true. He wants it to be true, because if it's not, then this is all a hell of a lot weirder than he thought it was. "He was looking for me. He was gonna ask me."

"You were a kid, Noah," Mr. H says, and sets his wine down, leans forward with his hands dangling between his knees. "Sixteen years old the first time he came crawling out from whatever rock he was hiding under, with a brand-new baby girl. And I'm supposed to let him come begging you for money you ain't even got? Like hell I was gonna do that."

"But he's _my_ dad," Puck protests. 

Mr. H just shrugs. "Like that means anything," he says, and holds his hand up when Puck opens his mouth again, mad as hell even though he knows he's not really mad at Mr. H. "I mean, yeah, for you or me, that'd mean something. But for him? Hell, you're as much a stranger to him as I am at this point. You got no responsibilities, not when it comes to him."

"But you didn't --"

"I did." Mr. H takes his hat off, rubs his head, makes like he's gonna put it back on for a second but then doesn't, his hands curled tight around the bill as he holds onto it. "Not to him, but to you." 

There's nothing Puck can say to that, so he doesn't say anything at all.

It's weird, how suddenly all those onions Kurt was chopping in the kitchen are starting to get to him now, in the living room, eight hours later.

"You were a kid, Noah," Mr. H says again, his face shifting from that same unreadable expression to something so sad Puck's not even sure it's the onions getting him anymore. "You were a kid, and I was a grownup, and I had the money and you didn't and your mom didn't. And... Hell." He rubs at his bald head again, looks down at his hat like he's embarrassed, looks back up. "You needed someone looking after you," he says. "And _he_ obviously wasn't gonna. And I wasn't gonna let Kurt do it all by himself, even if he was bound and determined to try."

Puck surprises himself by laughing; it's a weird, watery sound, but it's definitely laughter. "He did pretty good, though," he says.

Mr. H smiles back at him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, he did." Then he clears his throat, fixing his eyes on Puck's. "Look," he says, taking a deep breath. "I'm gonna be real honest with you here. I knew I wasn't ever gonna see that money again. Which is fine. I don't want his money any more than I want yours. All I wanted was to see you grow up into the kind of man I knew you could be, the kind of man who can hold down a steady job and take good care of his kid. The kind of guy who... The kind of guy who freaks out when his ex doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving and is willing to give to his old man even if the guy never gave anything to him. The kinda guy who'll spend an hour playing guitar while my son sings show tunes, even though I know damn well you hate 'em." And Puck's not even pretending it's the onions anymore; he's genuinely, honestly crying. "That's what I wanted, that's what I got. And I wouldn't care if it cost me a million bucks."

And then he gets up, leaving his hat on the chair behind him, and crosses to sit on the couch next to Puck.

Puck just buries his face in Mr. H's shoulder and starts bawling.

"Way I see it," Mr. H says, wrapping an arm around Puck and rubbing at his back like Puck's his kid or something (which only makes Puck cry harder because _Jesus_ ), "I was making an investment in the future. And it paid off. Big time."

 

*

 

This time, it's a book. Not, like, a _real_ book, like the big thick ones Beth likes to bury herself in; a book with great big pictures on every page and no words over two syllables long. But it's still a book.

Puck doesn't want to believe that this changes things, but it's hard to stop himself some days.

"Your choice, kiddo" he says, and kisses the back of Beth's head. 

She just sits there, perched on Puck's lap, and stares down at the book in her hands, the one she outgrew six years ago for a long time. "We could give it to the library," she says, after a little while. "So someone can use it. If you think Grandpa won't get mad."

Grandpa probably won't remember the book in the morning, but Puck's not sure he knows how to explain that to Beth, and anyway, eight's probably a little bit young for him to be introducing her to the phrase "blackout drunk." Granted, he knew that one by six, but. He's pretty sure Kurt Hummel didn't, and that's how he wants Beth to grow up. Like Kurt, and not like Puck. "I think it'll be okay," he says, and cuddles Beth a little tighter, and stares out into the night, waiting for Quinn's car, with its one burnt-out headlight, to pull up the driveway. He's not looking for an out anymore -- he's a grown man, and he can deal with his dad by himself.

But Beth's just a kid, and he's not subjecting her to this. It doesn't matter what he has to do; he's getting her out of here.

So when Quinn's car doesn't pull up the driveway, when it's Cooper Anderson's sleek black sedan that comes cruising towards his house, with Cooper behind the wheel and Quinn in the passenger seat, Puck swallows his pride and the remnants of his jealousy, makes sure he's got a good grip on Beth, and carries her out to meet them.

Quinn pulls him aside while Cooper's getting Beth buckled into her seat, rummaging through her purse while she asks Puck if he's okay, if he's _sure_ he's okay, and Puck tells her to put her wallet away, that he's fine, that his dad's just gonna sleep it off and he'll be gone in the morning. Quinn just raises her eyebrow at him, and he tells her again that he's okay. That he didn't need a new guitar anyway, and that he'll be fine, really. He'll be fine.

Cooper waits until Quinn's hugged Puck and climbed back into the car before reaching out to set his hand on Puck's shoulder. But he doesn't offer him money, just a beer, whenever and wherever Puck wants it. And Puck can't give him much of an answer, 'cause his allergies are suddenly acting up, but he manages to nod, at least.

Then they're backing out of the driveway, taking Beth with them, and Puck's alone, standing in the driveway because his father's passed out drunk on his couch and he just can't bear to go back inside right now.

So he settles on the front steps, looking up at the stars.

(A week later, Kurt tells him that one of Blaine's friends from the music department at UCLA is selling off some of the guitars in his collection, and he's willing to give Blaine some crazy ridiculous deal if he wants one, and Blaine doesn't, really, but if Puck's still looking... And he can just pay Blaine back whenever, no worries; they know he's good for it. Whenever.

(Puck says yes. Of course. 

(And then he picks up his phone and calls Cooper Anderson, because if he's gonna take the guitar, he should probably take the beer, too.)


End file.
